Revolutionary
by underhandlilies
Summary: When Cloud is brained by a blackboard, the last thing he expects is to awake in what seems to be the past...with who seem to be historical figures that look oddly like his summer school teachers. ASGZCish, CRACK.


**Genres: **Parody and Romance. Well, there has to be a term for sacrilege; I think parody sums it best.

**Special Conditions: **Okay. So…just disregard the passing of time in terms of normal history. Doesn't apply here. Also disregard which Founding Fathers were close to each other. There's messing up of history events and who was present. Also, omission and addition of certain members of Continental Congress present during Declaration drafting.

**How the Idea was created: **I was depressed. When I'm depressed, I write crack.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Final Fantasy VII or the characters within it. I am gaining no profit from this work of fan-fiction.

**Warnings: **The summary was warning enough. Um…FFVII cast members becoming Founding Fathers. General sacrilege towards the Fathers of Our Country. Messed with time elapsing. OOC Angeal. OOC Founding Fathers. You have been warned.

GOSH, NOW I'M REGRETTING POSTING THIS. DON'T KILL ME. HAPPY 4TH of JULY. KTHANXBAI.

**._._._.**

**Revolutionary**

**A 4****th**** of July Final Fantasy VII Fan-Fiction**

**._._._.**

If there was one thing Cloud didn't understand in all the world, it was how he, nerd of the year, had ended up in _summer school_ while all the failing apes managed to get the blissful two month break he'd been dreaming of.

Just another update in the increasingly unfair life of Cloud Strife.

Hey, that rhymed.

Cloud groaned, pitching forward on his desk. It was no use. He couldn't concentrate on anything anymore. It was _hot_ and _humid_ and he was _dying_ because there was _no_ AC _anywhere_ in the classroom and he already freaking _knew _this stuff, didn't they understand?

The only source of air in the room—a fan roughly the size of a Chihuahua—was on the teacher's desk, and Cloud couldn't even _feel _it because there were currently three people huddled around it. Even the only other teenager in the room, Fair (Zack Fair, but for some malicious reason, Mr. Hewley insisted that he call him just 'Fair'), was nearer to the fan, because those same three people were jerks who were not only in charge, but also cruel.

"No passing out on your desk, student."

Cloud peered up miserably through his bangs. One of those three people, _Mr._ Genesis Rhapsodos, as he had been snottily informed about a week ago, was frowning at him. Mr. Angeal Hewley and Sephiroth (who apparently had no last name) didn't even pay attention, continuing to command the fan's attention. Mr. Hewley even lifted up his t-shirt over the flow of air, giving a sigh of relief as the front puffed out like a balloon.

Across the room, Cloud pathetically swiped his sweaty bangs out of his flushed face yet again.

Like he said: jerks. There was absolutely _no_ reason for Cloud to be at the back of the room, especially since the rest of the classroom was empty.

Somehow, Cloud managed to scrawl down the homework assignment upon the completion of class—Revolutionary War causes and effects—and dragged himself to the front of the room. Fair, upon the announcement of class being done, had bounced up to the front of the class and was laughing with the teachers. God, was everyone against him?

"I'm glad I decided to do summer school now!" Fair was chirping, draping himself all over the desk. Cloud noted in no little disgust that room was quickly made for him in front of the fan.

Mr. Hewley chuckled fondly, and ruffled…_ruffled_…Fair's hair. "I'm glad you did too, Puppy. NOW you can actually earn those grades."

Cloud filed a new entry under teacher's pet in his mental dictionary.

He shifted awkwardly, waiting for attention, or, at the very least, someone to move from in front of the fan. When there was no reaction, he risked a bold move: clearing his throat. Four pairs of eyes immediately snapped to him.

"Yes, student?" Mr. Hewley said, all serious business now. Cloud shuffled his feet.

"Um…class is over…" he began, "May I go ho—"

"Is your ride here yet?" Mr. Rhapsodos interjected smoothly.

Cloud narrowed his eyes. "No. But I can—"

"Then you should stay here until then," he said, turning back towards Mr. Hewley. "While you're at it, you can clean the blackboards."

Cloud swiveled his head, eyeing the _jumbo_ blackboards, each on one side of the room, and snapped his head back, eyes nearly slits now.

"You've got to messing with me," he hissed. "I'm not here for manual labor."

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow.

A moment later, Cloud was viciously swiping at the smeared end of the blackboard across the room, cursing summer school and whoever had doomed him to it. Behind him, a chorus of laughter made him scrub a little harder in increased fury. He absolutely hated being used.

Slowing down a little, he looked wistfully up at the faces from history, gazing blankly from the _History Lives! _banner spanning the top of the blackboard. Gaze wandering across, he met the stern eyes of George Washington, and, right next to him, the slightly crazed ones of Patrick Henry. Alexander Hamilton smiled from another side, pushed slightly into the corner.

Guys like that weren't made anymore. There weren't any more people that could build a country from scratch, mean something to people, be nerds _and_ loved for it to boot. There weren't any more men who would risk their lives and limbs for a country that wasn't even formed yet. Heck, there weren't any more guys who could _get away_ with the kind of stuff they used to get away with.

Cloud rather wished there was. Guys like that, he meant. When the standard was guys who would torture you to an inch of your life, heck, he wished he could be transported back in time or something and make out with one of his historical heroes.

In a far less perverted way than that sounded.

With a sigh, Cloud continued attacking the blackboard.

All was going well until Cloud noticed the chalk smears all the way near the top of the blackboard. Being shorter than the board was a problem here. He could just as very well go over and ask for the stool that, currently, Fair was sprawled on, but he didn't want to open up the possibility of mocked for his size. That in thought, Cloud launched himself upwards, waving the rag furiously and hoping it caught something.

It didn't. The rag was a mite too low, even with the jump. Cloud tried again. No dice. With a growl, he squatted down, trying to put all the energy he could into his legs. He'd get it by himself for sure this time.

"Whatcha doing, Cloud?"

Mid jump, Cloud swiveled his head around, looking back at Zack, who was leaning against the desk at the far end of the room. He was about to protest at the unfairness of it (how come Zack could call him Cloud, but HE couldn't call him Zack?) when he suddenly remembered what he'd just been doing. He hastily snapped his head back around, trying to readjust his body.

Instead of it ending the way he had hoped, though, he just smashed himself against the board, like a hideously large insect against a windshield. With a quiet sound of pain, Cloud slid down, landing hard on his behind.

An ominous creaking sound came from the blackboard.

Cloud's eyes snapped up and widened as, with a great groan, the blackboard began toppling over on him.

The previously occupied voices from behind were now lost in a flurry of movement. Cloud heard a roared, "Strife, move!" from someone approaching him, but for some reason, he just couldn't stop looking up.

The last things he saw rushing towards him were the words _Revolutionary War: Causes and Effects—_and Thomas Jefferson's face, eyes gazing off to the side and a smirk on his face.

There was excruciating pain.

Then…blackness.

._._._.

"I've never seen him anywhere before…"

"Boy? Wake up."

"There seems to be something suspicious about this situation. It's best if we left him alone."

Cloud stirred slightly, seemingly to the sound of voices. They seemed familiar, though his surroundings didn't…he didn't remember linoleum being quite this…sandy feeling. His head was spinning, and he felt like a bump was forming on the side, for some reason or other. He cracked open his eyes with a quiet groan, immediately shutting them again a moment later. Why was the sky so bright…?

His eyes snapped open again.

_Sky?_

Sure enough, there was a blue sky, smeared with clouds, right above him. Cloud stared confusedly up at it for a moment, before turning his head to the side.

Cobblestones. Cloud shifted his hand back and forth, running his fingers over the sun-warmed, worn stones in wonder. He was lying on a cobbled street, under an open, bright sky.

Where was he?

"A-_hem," _someone coughed in front of him. Cloud's eyes snapped back upwards, but as he couldn't see anyone, he slowly peeled himself up off the ground, wincing in pain. Whatever had hit him had hit him all over, and he felt absolutely horrible.

Oh my God.

Maybe someone had..._attacked_ him, or something. Cloud sat up in horror, feeling at himself frantically for signs of cuts, bruises, or darker injuries.

"Possessed, no doubt," one of the voices continued from in front of him. "Poor lad."

Cloud tilted his head up, feeling lost. Above him, he really couldn't make out any faces because of the sun glare…but he could see four, dark figures standing above, looking down at him.

After a moment, one of the figures extended a hand towards him.

"Don't touch him, Hamilton, he might be infected."

"The fever? We have enough problems as it is! Leave him be."

"What_ever, _take the hand, lad. I'm sure you don't have the fever, eh?"

Hesitantly, Cloud's eyes darted back and forth before he tentatively reached out and took the offered hand, wincing as he was brought to his feet.

"There now." The voice seemed to be smiling. "He doesn't look to have the plague at _'tall. _You're too suspicious, Mr. Henry. Part of honor involves helping those in need."

"Hmph."

Cloud glanced up and gaped. "F-_Fair_?"

Standing in front of him was Zack Fair from summer school. At least, he _thought_ it was Fair from summer school. He had the same cheeky grin, and the same face, sure. The problem was that he was dressed in—in—

—were those _tights?_

Tights, and… there was a really, really dressy shirt—lacy and everything a guy's shirt shouldn't be—underneath a very thick jacket. Cloud couldn't help but stare at the last accessory, though.

Fair was wearing a curled wig. A curled _white _wig; the kind that were usually only seen in _courtrooms_. Not only that, but it was perched at a rakish, almost careless angle on his head, showing a faint shade of hair underneath; Cloud couldn't tell what color.

"F…air?" he said, his voice very small as he shrunk back.

"Fair" grinned, looking up at the sky. "Well, it is a _fair_ day, I do agree."

Cloud swiveled his head in confusion, taking in the other figures next to the…doppelganger. Mr. Rhapsodos, looking mysterious. Mr. Hewley, looking annoyed. Sephiroth, looking…well, Cloud guessed 'thoughtful' was the closest thing he could pin on him.

All were dressed in tights and the same weird jackets. Cloud noted that no one else was wearing a wig. It was a small relief, though. Everyone else had _ponytails_ instead, left and right, tied back tightly from their faces with black ribbons.

Cloud did _not _think they were hot like this. Nope.

"W-Where's the classroom?" Cloud mumbled to himself, finally tearing his gaze away to look around. They were on a city street…sort of. There were street lamps, all right, but…odd ones. From what Cloud could see, they had little hinges so you could swing them open, but there were no light-bulbs. The street was, as he had noticed before, cobbled, but only the one he was standing on. The side streets that he could see weren't paved, but just dirt. The store fronts looked like they were out of a Western movie—only slightly more sophisticated, perhaps: painted signs, no neon lights or anything. Several other people were bumbling about, the guys dressed similar to Cloud's wayward summer school teachers and classmate, while the ladies' dresses swept up dust around them.

A horse carriage rolled by. Wide-eyed, Cloud swiveled his head and watched it turn the corner at the end of the street.

Finally, he started to panic.

"God! God, where _am_ I? There aren't horses and buggies anymore! And the ladies aren't wearing _pants_! What _girl_ doesn't wear _pants_ anymore?"

"I would prefer," Sephiroth interjected quietly, his smooth Southern accent becoming apparent, "If you did not use God's name in vain, boy. And it is right and proper for women to wear skirts, not pants."

Cloud fisted his hands in his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. They snapped open as soon as a sudden, horrific thought hit him. He looked up, trembling, meeting the confused eyes of each man in front of him.

"W…What year is it, please?" he whispered.

Mr. Rhapsodos frowned. He reached back a hand, flopping his red ponytail over his shoulder and carding it, like a cat. "Year of Our Lord 1776, boy. Didn't you know that?"

Seventeen…seventy…_SIX?_ No, no, not a time to panic yet. Cloud licked suddenly VERY dry lips. "And…and _you_ are, sirs?"

Mr. Hewley snorted. "He does not know who we are, when almost _everyone_ does in this very city."

"Maybe," Sephiroth said quietly, "We should have some humbleness, and accept that there are those who do not know us."

"Thomas Jefferson," Mr. Rhapsodos said, cutting to the chase as he extended a hand. Cloud didn't take it, staring at it instead, and then throwing a bewildered look in Fair's direction.

"Alexander Hamilton at your service," Fair said with a huge grin, sweeping off his wig as he dropped into a deep bow.

"George Washington," Sephiroth said.

Angeal Hewley swished his mouth around in obvious disgust before growling out, "Patrick Henry." He tilted his head away, as if it was physically painful to even look at Cloud. (In-between the enormous bout of shock running from his hair to his toes, Cloud vaguely felt affronted. He hadn't even _done_ anything to Mr. Hew—Mr. Henry.)

Cloud stared. Mr. Rhapsodos' hand was still outstretched, but he didn't make a move to take it.

Had he made a wish? Was that what had happened in the classroom? Hadn't he wished that he could go back in time and make out with someone? Well, he took it back, wish-thingamajig. He wanted to go home. This was way too freaky.

Besides, if this was HIS wish sequence being fulfilled, where was the making out?

Finally, Cloud squashed his panic and extended a hand, gingerly shaking Mr. Rhapsodos'. "Pleased to meet you all," he murmured. "Now where's the joke?"

"Joke?" Mr. Hewley, who apparently had been waiting for a chance to argue, quickly snapped up Cloud's question. "What _joke? _These are serious times. There's a war brewing, and we are going to have to risk our _lives_ to fight for our honor! We have no time for _jokes." _He got right up in Cloud's face, eyes narrowed to slits. "Who are you, exactly? Are you an apprentice? Who's your master?"

Cloud backed away. "Cloud Strife, sir, and I have no master. I meant that this can't be rea—"

"That's not a biblical name," Sephiroth interrupted, eyes watching him curiously.

"I'm—I'm not from around here," Cloud quickly explained, backing off.

"Oh?" Mr. Hewley's eyes were practically gone now. "And why exactly _are_ you here?"

"Um…um…" Cloud thought fast. An excuse in 1776. He couldn't very well say that the blackboard in his classroom was magical. He'd be taken for a _witch_, and he so did _not _feel like dying. What else could he say, though? Cloud stood a little straighter, confident that he had the right answer. "I came to get more information on the Declaration of Independence."

All four men bristled. Oops. Wrong answer.

Fair suddenly had his arm, examining him. "How do you know of that?" he asked sharply, and then snapped his gaze over to Mr. Rhapsodos. "Jefferson, have you spoken of it to anyone?"

"It did not leave my room nor the confidence of the Congress, I'm sure," Mr. Rhapsodos said just as briskly.

"I told you he was suspicious," Mr. Hewley quickly interjected. "He must be a spy!"

"I'm not a spy!" Cloud said, wriggling in panic. "I just knew about it! I'm—I'm—" He racked his brain for Revolutionary information. Hadn't he thought that he knew all there was in class earlier? "I'm a Patriot!"

"No _patriots_ know of the Declaration besides a select few-those in front of you chiefly," Sephiroth said sternly.

"So now what, then?" Mr. Rhapsodos seemed uncharacteristically uninterested in the entire thing. "What do you want to do? Tar and feather him?"

Cloud felt the blood rush from his face as the other men actually seemed to consider this option.

"I have a better idea!" Fair suddenly piped up, still holding Cloud's arm. "Let's take him with us!"

"Are you _daft_, Hamilton?"

"_No. _But just think about it; Mr. Henry thinks he's a spy, he knows about the Declaration, and if we let him go now, everyone'd probably end up tarring and feathering him anyway. But that's the _British_ way of doing things, not the _colonists' _way! We can all stay in Jefferson's room until the Declaration is done. By that time, everyone else will already know of it anyway, so there'll be no harm done!"

"True," Sephiroth 'Washington' said thoughtfully.

"Time _is_ wasting here," Mr. Rhapsodos agreed.

Mr. Hewley harrumphed and rolled his eyes, but didn't protest.

._._._.

Moments later, Cloud found himself dragged down the cobblestones, through a store, up a narrow flight of stairs, and then into a cramped boarding room. Once there, he was plopped onto an uncomfortable wooden chair in the corner. Mr. Rhapsodos immediately set to ignoring him, settling himself on a chair in front of the only desk in the room and shuffling papers. Sephiroth strolled over to the window, looking out. Mr. Hewley lumbered over to the chair opposite Cloud's and proceeded to frown at him.

All was silent until Fair whined, "How come _Jefferson _gets the cushiony chair?"

"Be_cause_," Mr. Rhapsodos snapped back, "_I'm_ the one doing all the work. When _you're_ writing something that could change the fate of the entire thirteen colonies, you'd want to hog the cushiony chair too!"

"He's right, Hamilton," Sephiroth intoned. "Find another chair."

Cloud swiveled his head around in time to see Fair pout and stomp extra hard across the room. He located a chair and began dragging it obnoxiously across the floorboards.

Mr. Rhapsodos twitched, and Fair grinned. Agonizingly slowly, he pulled his chair up next to Cloud, flopping into it with a heavily exaggerated sigh. Releasing a cheeky grin upon seeing Mr. Rhapsodos bury his head in his hands, Zack turned to look at Cloud.

"So!" he said cheerily, "_How _are _you_?"

"I could be better," Cloud said, still swiveling his head around the room.

"So could we all, my friend," Zack Hamilton sighed, apparently taking this as a cue to continue talking. "I could be down in the Indies, fishing and the sort, and instead, I'm cooped up in a little Philadelphia boarding room with stuff shirts."

"No one asked you to come," growled Mr. Rhapsodos.

"Refrain from upsetting Jefferson while he is penning the future of our independence," Sephiroth said absently, flicking something off his shoulder.

"Please." Mr. Hewley mumbled. "Have some honor."

"Says the guy who locks his wife in his cellar," Fair shot back.

Mr. Hewley abruptly turned red. "PREposterous!" he sputtered. "I never—"

"I need to concentrate!" Mr. Rhapsodos shrieked, slamming his fists down with a bang that made Cloud jump. The inkwell jumped too, spilling ink all over the draft Genesis had been working on. With a foul curse, he plucked it up, shaking it forlornly. "Now look what you made me do, you—"

Sephiroth abruptly turned from the window, his face set into a dangerous scowl. "The next person who speaks will face the wrath of the entire continental army, under my command." He coolly surveyed the room, locating Mr. Rhapsodos' smiling face. "That includes you too, Jefferson."

The room settled into silence, and Cloud's eyes continued to wander the room. In all the books he'd ever read, there was always a way to get back to your time period after an abrupt jump like that. Considering that he didn't have a machine or anything, he wasn't exactly sure what to do. Well, he'd been hit by a blackboard. Maybe he could slam one over his head again, and he'd be back in the classroom. The very idea made him cringe, but if it was the only way…

He began scanning the room, looking for a classroom slate, or a blackboard—anything like that. He frowned when his eyes alighted on another framed item, however.

Reaching over tentatively, he poked Fair's tight-enclosed thigh, wincing when Fair swiveled his head towards him with an over-eager grin.

"Who's that?" Cloud whispered, gesturing to the picture.

"_Him_? That's King George the Third, that's who!" Fair's face blackened in obvious hatred.

Cloud looked back and frowned; it didn't _look _like King George the Third to him… at least, not the guy he saw in his history books. This man was strange looking; he had long, greasy black hair, a pair of round glasses, and a scowl that rivaled Sephiroth's one just moments prior. He also had on what looked like a lab coat, which clashed horribly with the crown perched on his head.

"The blackguard," Fair growled. "If I could, I would challenge him to a duel so I could defeat him with my bare hands!"

"I don't think you should be so quick to challenge people to duels," Cloud blurted, thinking of what happened to Alexander Hamilton later in life.

Fair shot him a curious look. "Really? Why not?"

"It just…doesn't always turn out the way you want it to."

"Hm." Fair pivoted in his chair. "Anyways, back to the topic. _We're_ writing the Declaration—"

"—_I'm _writing the Declaration—" Genesis snarled.

"—to proclaim our freedom from England, which is where King Georgers is. He keeps taxing us for _everything, _so we decided to stop him before we had to, maybe, pay tax for our underwear or something—"

"_Hamilton_," Mr. Hewley growled threateningly.

"—so we're separating from the Motherland and striking off on our own!" Fair finished triumphantly.

Sephiroth's face went slack, his jaw working for a few moments. "Yes," he said sadly. "Mother. She did love us in the beginning, but after a while, saw us as nothing but tools. We have no choice but to separate from her."

Without turning around, Genesis patted the air in Sephiroth's direction in a soothing motion, while still scribbling furiously with the other. There was a pause of silence, in which everyone waited for Cloud's response.

"Wow." Cloud tried to find something to say. "That's…honorable."

Mr. Hewley's face softened towards him for the first time since Cloud had arrived, becoming bright and eager. "Exactly! We're seeking to regain our honor through faithful fighting for our country!"

"Yes!" Fair bounced in his seat. "We'll get freedom, or we'll throw ourselves into the ocean!"

As quickly as Mr. Hewley's face had relaxed, it pulled into a frown again. "I think the best way to reword that, Hamilton, would be 'give me liberty, or give me death'."

Fair waved his hand in a 'whatever' motion. "You're the orator here, you probably know best."

Genesis growled again, fisting a hand in his ponytail.

"No one's talking loudly," Fair said defensively.

"It's not that," Genesis said sulkily. "I can't think of what comes next."

Sephiroth strode across the room, patting him consolingly (albeit awkwardly) on the shoulder. "Don't think about it so hard."

"That's the problem!" Mr. Rhapsodos snapped. "Whenever I _stop _thinking about it, it strays off the topic of liberty and into insults!"

"Insults could work," Fair mused.

"No. No, they wouldn't." Mr. Hewley corrected.

Mr. Rhapsodos groaned, sprawling out on his desk. "I need my wig," he moaned.

"His wig?" Cloud asked confusedly.

"His thinking wig," Fair said, leaning in close to him in a conspiratorial way. "When he gets a bout of writer's block, he puts on his wig to think. He always comes up with the best ideas."

Genesis glared at each room member in turn. "Well? Who'll get it for me?"

"Get your own wig!" Fair shot back. Mr. Hewley coughed, and Sephiroth was conveniently distracted by something outside the window. Mr. Rhapsodos' gaze fell on Cloud, who shifted awkwardly.

"In the corner, Strife the patriot," he said snippily, "You'll find a closed trunk. Open it and bring out the first wig you see."

Awkwardly, Cloud slid off his chair and searched each corner until he located the trunk. Gingerly, he grabbed the wig between his thumb and index finger, holding it out at arm's length. He wasn't sure how they cleaned these wig things, and he wasn't about to get revolutionary germs. "This one, sir?"

Genesis snorted. "Stop holding it at arm's length and bring it here, it doesn't bite."

Cloud complied, and, hands on the back of Mr. Rhapsodos' chair, even helped him adjust it. In reward, he received a dazzling smile before the man's face once again stooped into brooding. While Genesis thought, Cloud peered over his shoulder at the document before wrinkling up his nose. While he knew that the Declaration wasn't perfect the first time it was written, he was sure it had been nothing like that.

"I don't think it's a good idea to call King George the Third a lily-livered chicken child," he pointed out helpfully.

Genesis looked up at him. His wig was askew, stray white hairs going every which way, and a hint of red was clearly visible underneath.

"And why not?" he asked quietly.

"It…doesn't seem…" Cloud searched for the right word. "_Appropriate_."

"Really." Genesis studied him, but Cloud couldn't tell what he was thinking. "Pull over a chair, patriot, and sit next to me."

Nervous, Cloud went over and retrieved his chair, carrying it over next to Mr. Rhapsodos, and then jumping when the man reached out and pulled the chair closer.

"How come _I _can't sit next to you?" Fair complained.

"Because you're a lily-livered chicken's child, and I wouldn't trust your writing with my life," Genesis said carelessly. "Do you need the thinking wig, Strife?"

"Um…" Cloud eyed the wig, still on Genesis' head. "…no."

"All right then." Genesis leant heavily on one hand, staring at Cloud. "The reason I'm not asking this to anyone else in the room is for simple reasons: Mr. Henry is too fiery, Hamilton inspires my wrath, and I don't feel like listening to Washington at the moment."

"Thank you," Sephiroth rumbled from the corner.

"You, on the other hand, are a spy of some sort, aren't you?" Cloud opened his mouth to protest, but Mr. Rhapsodos raised a hand to silence him. "Spies have new outlooks. Even if you're not, you're young and definitely not involved in any of this; you can give me a clear opinion. So. What are rights that you would like to enjoy?"

No, this was not happening. Cloud was not being asked a question about the freakin' Declaration of Independence.

"I…couldn't say, sir," Cloud said carefully. No way _he'd _mess up history.

Mr. Rhapsodos rolled his eyes. "Perhaps I should reword myself. What is something you really wish for at the moment?"

"I would like a slate," Cloud said, his mind jumping back to the 'being hit by blackboard again' theory.

Genesis' eyebrows disappeared under his wig. "Really?"

Cloud blushed, suddenly coming back to his senses. "Yes sir."

"Well, no one else in the colonies does at the moment," Genesis shot back. He reached over, pushing the paper into Cloud's hands. Cloud held it awkwardly, like a kitten, and looked confusedly up at the man.

"Read it, and tell me what you think is wrong, since you're obviously incompetent in forming ideas," Mr. Rhapsodos said impatiently. "Go on."

"Well…I think you shouldn't insult the King directly," Cloud said, scanning the paper thoughtfully. "You should make more of a list of what he's doing wrong."

"A list of wrongs…" Genesis traced something in the air. "Interesting. Anything else?"

"The reasons that you want to dissolve from England in the first place," Cloud said. "Besides taxing."

"Besides taxing…yes. The quartering of British soldiers; that needs to go." A feverish light had gone on behind Mr. Rhapsodos' eyes, and he turned back to the desk, scribbling furiously.

"Sir?"

"Leave me alone, busybody," was the absent reply.

Tentatively, Cloud tapped on Mr. Rhapsodos' shoulder. "Since I…helped, sort of…will you get me the slate now, sir? I won't bother you again, I promise."

Genesis looked up, his deep blue eyes scanning Cloud's. "Sure, why not. The woman downstairs probably has one. Fair, fetch a slate for the patriot."

With a huff, Fair strode to the door, slamming it loud enough to show that he wasn't pleased with being chosen. Cloud rocked back and forth on his seat uncomfortably, and had a horrible start when Genesis suddenly cried out.

"Perfect!" he said. "Well, not absolutely perfect, but just near enough! A nice first draft indeed!" He fervently kissed the paper, leaving a smear of ink across his cheek, before focusing his sparkling eyes on Cloud. "Lad, you are a genius."

Cloud had no time to reply before Zack charged into the room, panting dramatically. "She had a slate," he said, and held it out to Cloud. Cloud took it, shooting him a thankful look, before squeezing his eyes shut. "Thank you, sirs, for the interesting trip," he said…

…and then slammed the slate over his own head.

._._._.

There was blinding pain, all right, but not the darkness of before; just a weird reddish glare behind his eyes. Upon opening them, Cloud discovered that he was now sprawled across the floor of the room.

Genesis _Jefferson's_ room.

He hadn't been sent back.

The other four men in the room were staring at him, wide-eyed.

"Why on earth did you do that?" Genesis finally said, spinning around in his chair to look at him. Cloud sat up, rubbing his head mournfully and trying not to meet anyone's eyes.

"Thought I could get home," he mumbled.

"The Declaration's nearly done, anyway," Fair pointed out, cheerily reaching out a hand to help Cloud up. "Don't kill yourself just yet." He pumped a fist in the air. "We're going to have a Revolution! You can kill yourself all you want then."

"_Hamilton_," Mr. Rhapsodos growled warningly, "Hopefully we will _not _have a Revolution. We just want to show them that we're not pushovers anymore. We're going to be our own Kings from now on." He looked admiringly over his draft. "Frankly, boy, your suggestions broke my writer's block. I could kiss you."

"Well, I have no problem with that," Mr. Hewley said. Suddenly, he was towering over Cloud. When Cloud looked up, confused, he leaned down and planted a kiss, right on the lips.

To be shell-shocked was an understatement—especially when Angeal started using a bit more tongue than would've been used in Revolutionary times.

_Ah, _Cloud thought dazedly as the man pulled away, _there's the making-out._

_Wait. _

Fair was looking at Angeal with one eyebrow raised. "So _that's _why your wife's locked in the cellar."

"Totally, man," said Mr. Rhapsodos. Turning to look at him, Cloud jumped upon realizing that he was clad in only boxers and smoking a bubble pipe. "I, like, totally saw that coming."

The image began blurring around the edges, and, disoriented, Cloud grabbed Mr. Hewley's hand as blackness descended once again.

This time, though, it was the right kind of blackness.

._._._.

As Cloud stirred this time, he had the vague sensation of concerned voices above him—yet again. He sighed, turning over and burying into whatever he was lying on. It was warm.

"Cloud? Cloud, can you hear me? Are you awake?"

Grumpily, Cloud opened his eyes to mere slits. Why was his head hurting so much? It didn't seem like it had hurt _that _bad just moments before. Opening them as much as he could, he looked up at the face hovering over him and smiled.

"Mr. Henry?" he sighed dreamily, reaching up a hand and running it down the man's cheek.

The face frowned confusedly, though he didn't make any move to shake the hand off. "Um, no. Mr. Hewley, actually."

Pop. Suddenly, Cloud was very, _very_ alert again. He dropped his hand hastily, trying to sit up, but ended up collapsing back on…someone's lap again.

"Take it easy, that was a pretty bad hit," Mr. Rhapsodos said from behind him. With a horrific start, Cloud realized that his head was on _Mr. Rhapsodos'_ lap.

Well, at least he was wearing jeans. If he'd been wearing tights, Cloud would've definitely lost it.

Slowly this time, Cloud got up, rubbing his eyes. "What…happened?"

Fair was suddenly in his face, eyebrows raised. "The blackboard fell on you. You got knocked up pretty nasty." He snorted, though his eyes were still concerned. "You were mumbling all this stuff about the Revolutionary War and Thomas Jefferson and stuff. It was weird."

Cloud reached up to his head, wincing as he felt a decent sized bump right on his forehead. Sephiroth reached out from another side, swatting his hand away. "Don't do that. You'll hurt yourself."

Confused, Cloud dropped his hand, and looked between each of the men. Given the hit on the head—and the fact that he'd just seen all of them as Founding Fathers—he blurted out the first thing on his mind.

"You guys look hot in wigs."

Sephiroth's eyes widened comically, and Cloud blushed, clapping a hand over his mouth. "I mean…um…why are you guys such _jerks_?" Another unwanted question.

"Yes, because I see exactly how we're jerks," Genesis said sarcastically from behind him.

"I mean…" Cloud slumped over miserably. His tongue felt funny, but he couldn't stop talking. "You're always telling me not to call you guys by name, and Fair's even my age." He flung his hands into the air, blowing an exasperated (albeit drunken) raspberry. "And you _al_ways hog the fan! Why you _do_ that?"

Someone lifted him up under the armpits, and he was swiveled around to look into Mr. Rhapsodos' amused face.

"Because… you're cute when you're upset," he said, kissing Cloud's nose.

Cloud blinked.

"And you're cute when grit your teeth 'cause you've got to call me Fair," Zack said, kissing Cloud's cheek.

Cloud blinked.

"And you're _especially_ cute when you're hot and flushed and sweaty," Sephiroth said, kissing his forehead.

Cloud blinked, touching his nose, cheek and forehead disbelievingly before he turned a sweet shade of scarlet.

"Pretty much," Angeal said, leaning forward and pecking Cloud's lips, "You're adorable, we like you, and we want to know what you think about us." He smiled. "Maybe a date after school, or this weekend, or something?"

Cloud, in his concussion befuddled mind, processed that his three summer school teachers and fellow classmate were asking him out after he'd gotten hit by a blackboard—for no obvious reason. They had been jerks, been mean to him, and made him get hit by a _blackboard_.

The obvious answer was a yes, so he nodded enthusiastically, opening his mouth to confirm.

"You kiss _ni-ice _with tongue!" he chortled—not what he'd been meaning to say at all—before he pitched forward into Genesis' chest.

Genesis looked up in amusement.

"Already moving forward, Angeal?"

Angeal's face scrunched up. "I didn't even slip him any tongue."

Sephiroth sighed with a weary smile, scooping the gurgling Cloud up in his arms. "I heard a confirmation, and that's enough for me."

Zack brushed the hair back from Cloud's face. "Me too. I think Cloud'll agree, once he's back to normal."

And Cloud did.

Right after he got over his concussion.

_fin._

._._._.

**HISTORICAL FIGURES SHAMELESSLY USED:**

George Washington – General Sephiroth

Thomas Jefferson – Genesis Rhapsodos

Patrick Henry – Angeal Hewley

Alexander Hamilton – Zack Fair

King George III – Hojo

._._._.

**Review? :)**

**A/N:** Wrote this entire thing so I could make Genesis wear the thinking wig, hence the severe lack of plot. That wig will definitely return sometime in the very near future… xD

I didn't find a single way to squeeze _my _favorite Founding Father in here, and _he _was the one who was mostly present with Thomas Jefferson during the Declaration's penning. xD Originally, I was going to have him be Zack in the dream…but it didn't work out. Anyways: can you guess who he is? Hint: He's awesome and always portrayed flying a kite in dangerous weather.

Hokay. The facts.

. Since it was a dream world, Cloud's mind combined people and things he'd been looking at previously into one big, wild thing. So it's not historically accurate.

. Patrick Henry did, indeed, have an insane wife. He locked her in his cellar.

. Alexander Hamilton was killed in a duel with a bitter political enemy, Aaron Burr; hence Cloud telling him he shouldn't "rush into duels".

. "Give me liberty or give me death" is a famous saying taken from a speech Patrick Henry gave during the Revolution. It was said waaaaaaaaaaay after the Declaration.

. Alexander Hamilton, George Washington, and Patrick Henry were not present with Thomas Jefferson during the Declaration's writing; neither did they sign the Declaration; nor did they suggest help, pace about the room annoying Jefferson, or force little blond 'spies' to stay in the room with them.

. I doubt Thomas Jefferson ever got writer's block. He was way too awesome for that.

. From what I've read, Patrick Henry seemed a rather grumpy person; thus Angeal's extra-grumpy character.

. The speech isn't exactly historically accurate either, though I did give it my best shot. The slips are where Cloud's mind filled it in with his own knowledge.

. Summer school is the most PATHETIC thing in existamance. I'm not even kidding.

. These one shots just keep getting longer, huh?

Thanks for reading, if you did; and, if you're British-or, ESPECIALLY if you're AMERICAN-please don't take offense. xD Happy Independence Day! (My favorite holiday ever; I love to go to bed early and then fuss because people are putting off fireworks…)


End file.
